


sugar and smoke rings

by maisy_daisy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, Demisexual neil, Fluff, High School AU, I just wanted to write something fluffy and superficial sue me, M/M, Pining, The opposite of a slow burn, also breaks the fourth wall a couple times so wtv, did I mention this is super ooc?? bc it is don't come for me, god neil is so touch starved in this i have no explanation, just accept these two stupid and pining idiots crushing on each other, like Andrew is pretty much human as hell and there's like no mentions of trauma, literally no angst unless you count their inability to communicate like normal people, literally no trauma in this I hate trauma all my homies hate trauma, this is literally 11k of two pining idiots and one very touch starved neil, this is so freaking ooc and I have never cared less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maisy_daisy/pseuds/maisy_daisy
Summary: “I’m not dating anyone,” Neil says. “Andrew and I are just friends.”“Friends that hold hands and go on dates and make lovey dovey faces at each other in public?” Allison deadpans."We're not dating," he insists again. He feels himself deflate in Allison’s embrace and her eyes fall at his expression.“Trust me,” Neil says quieter. “Because you have no idea how badly I wish we were.”Or, an extremely ooc andreil high school au! ft. a lot of pining, absolutely no mentions of trauma, and two very oblivious idiots.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 128
Kudos: 649





	1. What's the Magic Word?

**Author's Note:**

> title and backing soundtrack from troye sivan's 'strawberries and cigarettes'. originally written for my endlessly lovely friend @ allisonjamaica on tumblr and @ istalria on ao3. cw: underage smoking (are you surprised?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was meant to be 500 words. however, I decided I was starved for pure fluff/no trauma content so I ran with this incredibly ooc, most anti-slowburn au ever. I have no excuse for my actions; now enjoy some pining and oblivious idiots.

I.

The varsity football game is a greater disappointment than Neil expects.

First, it rains. Neil _hates_ the rain. And packed between his fellow high school peers, there’s no way to find cover from the onslaught and ear shattering cheers of the student’s around him.

Because that’s the second problem: Neil isn’t playing. He isn’t on the field with the other players despite knowing that’s exactly where he belongs.

That’s what you get for transferring schools in the middle of the year, apparently. Missing the one shot he has at keeping his sanity.

He wants to go home, but he has to stay for his step-sister, Allison’s, sake. She’s varsity cheer captain for their school and Neil’s new stepfather will be damned if he doesn’t pretend to support her.

On the field, a referee blows her whistle. Senior heartthrob and quarterback for Palmetto High, Kevin Day, runs onto the field and another wave of painful cheers goes up around Neil. He sighs and gives up, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the stairs.

 _Too much rain,_ he thinks. As much as he blinks, the water sloshes onto his forehead and drips into his eyes. No one else seems to be bothered by the downpour and that annoys him.

Looking around for any possible covering, Neil’s eyes strike target. There.

At the very top of the bleachers is a cloth awning, providing relief from the rain for the first two to three topmost bleachers. Better yet, the nosebleeds are almost completely deserted. Most of the students and their families opt to be as further down as possible, after all. In fact, Neil can only catch sight of one student who, if he remembers correctly, is a grade above his junior.

 _Oh_ , Neil thinks as he climbs the stairs, finally recognizing the other boy. Andrew Minyard, mutual menace to society and disgraced honor roll student extraordinaire.

Neil grins to himself. If he has to be miserable for the night, he might as well make the most of it and make Andrew’s night just as bad.

“Hi,” Neil greets when he gets to the top. Andrew doesn’t look up from the unlit cigarette he’s rolling between his fingers, whether from not hearing or not caring, Neil doesn’t know.

“Hey,” Neil says again. When that doesn’t work, he plops down on the bleacher under Andrew to look up at the blonde. Thank God for that awning; Neil can finally see more than five feet in front of him.

“What do you want,” the boy states flatly. He flits a bored, if not confused gaze at the soaked student before focusing back on his cigarette.

“That’s not gonna light itself,” Neil says unhelpfully. Because he’s just like that. “Unless you have laser vision or something. Do you have laser vision?”

Andrew blinks slowly at Neil. “Do I know you?”

“Nope.” Neil grins and holds out his hand. “Neil Josten, at your service. I transferred a month ago.”

“Uh huh,” Andrew tutts like he couldn’t be less interested. He doesn’t give his name but Neil already knows it. The Minyard twins are pretty popular. Aaron, because he’s dating the most popular guy in school; Andrew, because he’s one of the most troublesome. Not even in a ‘bad boy’ way. He’s smart and complaint most days, but hostile to anyone who’s not in his immediate group.

Well. Last week's rumor was that Andrew set the school's old shed on fire. Maybe he can be a little bad, Neil decides, as a treat.

It’s only been a minute, but Neil's liking the vibes he’s getting from Andrew already.

“And you’re Andrew,” Neil prompts. When Andrew continues to ignore Neil’s outstretched hand, the red head high fives himself.

Andrew tries to find that lame and pathetic and not amusing as hell. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Is it a crime to talk to you?” Neil wonders, almost serious.

On the field, the other team scores a touchdown and a chorus of boos loud enough to summon an earthquake goes up. Andrew waits for the noise to quiet down before saying simply, “Sure.”

“Hmm, the law hasn’t stopped me before,” Neil says cryptically. Andrew squints at him.

“What do you want?” The blonde demands. The unafraid and obviously unbothered student might be interesting for now, but it won’t last. It never does. “I don’t have drugs or shit.”

“I don’t want _drugs_ ,” Neil says as if the implication offends him. “I wanted to talk.”

“What?”

“Talk, you know.” Neil gestures vaguely. “I’m bored, you’re bored. I don’t wanna be here, you don’t want be here. We already have two things in common so that’s enough for a conversation.”  
  
Andrew feels his eye twitch. Who the fuck had he pissed off this time to get sent this pretty, annoying distraction?

“Okay, _Neil_ ,” he relents, deciding to play along before eager-face goes crying home to mommy. He flicks the object in his hand. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to have a lighter on you?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Neil says between a yawn that looks way too adorable for Andrew’s liking. He’s like a—

“Wait, really?” Andrew asks. “You actually have one?”

“Uh huh.” Neil nods and rummages in his hoodie pocket before retrieving an old rusty zippo and flicking it open. No parents or faculty or anywhere close enough to see the small object.

“Oh.” Andrew looks Neil over again, this time taking a closer look at the unassuming auburn curls and blue eyes staring back at him. _He is kind of pretty. Disgusting_. “Do you smoke, Neil?”

“Nah,” Neil says easily.

“But you have a lighter,” Andrew points out. “Specifically for lighting cigarettes.”

“Nah,” Neil says again and if he’s going to be this hard to get answers from, Andrew’s already given up.

“Whatever,” Andrew mutters more to himself than the other boy. He extends the hand holding the cigarette out and says, “Light it.”

Neil cocks an amused eyebrow at the order. “What’s the magic word?”  
  
“Fucker,” Andrew offers and Neil just laughs. Andrew hates how cute it sounds.

“Bingo,” Neil sing-songs. He flicks the catch open and brings the flame to Andrew’s cigarette. When the tab catches, Neil watches Andrew bring the stick to his lips, gaze enraptured by the sight. He doesn’t care for the smell of the smoke, but something about it all is so addicting watching Andrew.

“Staring,” Andrew huffs out, smoke curling around his nostrils.

“That’s what eyes do,” Neil says softly, his open expression bared for all the world to see.

And oh. Oh no. This just can not do.

Andrew rises to his feet and stubs out the cigarette. He hadn’t even taken more than a drag. It’s a waste of a perfectly good tube of cancer, but Andrew is too bothered by the eyeful of smart ass in front of him to care all that much.

“Where are you going?” Neil asks. He looks confused, and Andrew almost feels—

Nope. Andrew does not feel _guilty_ over hurting some stupid kid’s feelings. He hurts people's feelings every day. It's called having an opinion.

Absolutely not guilty. Ugh.

“Not your business,” Andrew mutters and begins the descent down the bleachers. Immediately, the rain hits him and he suppresses a groan. Fuck it, Aaron can catch a ride home with his damn boy toy after the foxes lose yet again.

When Andrew reaches ground level, he tells himself not to. But he can’t resist the temptation to look back up towards the nosebleeds, eyes blinking to see through the downpour.

But Neil is gone too.

II.

Neil likes a challenge.

His whole life is full of them.

That’s the beauty of high school: no matter what you do, there’s always some other shit to get through.

Neil’s good at math. He’s in the advanced placement BC Calculus course at his school. And even he can admit, as he walks into his class the next Monday, that the risk he’s about to take is calculated.

But he’s not running from this one. Not yet.

First: he's going to need a bribe.

III.

Turns out? 

Much easier than he expected.

He almost wonders if Andrew is only _pretending_ to hate him so much.

“You,” Andrew snarls with way less force than he was going for.

“Me,” Neil agrees happily. The bag of candy he holds in his hand greets Andrew just as excitedly.

The red head leans against Andrew’s pristine black Acura and its all Andrew can do to not yell at him in the middle of the school parking lot. As if it wouldn’t be the hundredth time Andrew has to tell Neil not to lean against the car’s paint in the past few weeks.

Technically, the car is both his and Aaron’s, a consolation prize gifted after their mother’s death. But only Andrew really uses it. Aaron would drive himself into a ditch just for kicks if he had the chance.

It’s a Friday, more than a month since Neil decided to force his existence upon Andrew’s life. Ever since that football game, Neil had made it his sole priority to find Andrew and strike up fucking _conversations_ , of all things. As if Andrew even cared what Neil had to say.

And even worse, Andrew _humored_ him. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that one. Of all possibilities, Andrew would never have guessed his own brain would betray him.

That’s another thing. For some terrible reason, Neil has become comfortable just hanging out with Andrew to… hang out. Pure and simple. He never demands anything, never expects stuff from Andrew. It’s _infuriating_.

The first time Neil walked up to Andrew in the cafeteria, Andrew almost dropped his tray of mystery loaf and even more mysterious chocolate cake. That would’ve been a real tragedy. Worse than Macbeth, which Andrew might have enjoyed studying way more than he’d ever admit.

“Hi,” Neil had said. He was eating an apple.

“No,” Andrew had said. He hated apples.

“Cool.” And then Neil _followed_ him to Andrew’s table and Andrew glared the entire time as Neil talked about his _stupid_ stepsister and his _stupid_ cat and his _stupid_ interest in football and then Neil gave Andrew the chocolate cake he didn’t want to eat and Andrew decided he could _try_ to tolerate the kid. For the cake’s sake.

And it continued. Every lunch period they sat together while Neil chatted and Andrew pretended not to care about whatever new fixation caught Neil’s eye. Neil got along well with Dan and Matt, the other two seniors who Andrew still didn’t know why they put up with Andrew. Or Neil. They were just too nice and supportive. It was so annoying.

The first and only time Neil interacted with Aaron, it didn’t go too well. It wasn’t either of their faults. Andrew had just gotten bored one Wednesday and pretended to not know who Neil was.So when Neil spotted Aaron and walked over, thinking _that_ was the right twin, well…long story short, Aaron was not happy to be interrupted in his current flirting/arguing session with Kevin Day.

Andrew found Aaron's stuttered response as Neil bopped him on the nose in greeting more entertaining than he should have.

Andrew and Neil didn’t have any classes together—thank _God_ —but the universe decided to throw Andrew a curveball with Neil’s perpetual need for a ride home every day. By the third time, Aaron resolved to ride home with his friends because Neil was a headache for one Minyard at a time, thank you very much.

And Andrew just _allowed_ it. The first time Neil asked if he could get a ride home with Andrew, Andrew tried to tell Neil to go fuck himself.

Except what came out of his mouth was:

“What’s the magic word?”

Neil beamed. “ _Fucker_.”

Sigh. “Bingo."

Andrew doesn’t know whether to hate Neil or himself more for his own choices.

“Don’t you have a sister? Parents?” Andrew had demanded the fourth day he drove Neil home.

“Yep,” Neil answered. That was it. Just ‘yep’.

“So…can’t they drive you home?”

Neil pretended to think for a moment, turning his face up towards the sunroof and scratching his jaw. Fingers clenching around the steering wheel, Andrew focused on the road harder than he ever had in his life. If he looked at that strawberry hair or those bright eyes one more time, he might just crash the car into a tree. On purpose.

“Probably,” Neil finally said. “But this is more fun.”

“Fun?” Andrew repeated. Maybe that tree option was looking better after all. “You think it’s fun for me to waste car gas on you every day?”

Neil grinned, that feral smile of his that was more blinding than the damn sun burning through the windows. “We live on the same street.”

“Besides the point.”

“ _Exactly_ the point,” Neil argued, amused. “And don’t ‘waste gas’ on me. I pay you back.”

“How?” Andrew said. “By driving me towards insanity?”

Neil rummaged through his backpack before retrieving a Hershey’s bar. King size.

Oh, no.

That’s just cruel.

“You drive, actually,” Neil corrected cheekily. He waved the candy bar in Andrew’s direction as Andrew stopped at a red light. “And this is my fare.”

“ _This_ is nothing,” Andrew said at the same time he grabbed the chocolate. Not because it meant anything. But only an idiot would ignore a king size Hershey bar when it was practically being thrown at your face.

And Andrew is _not_ an idiot.

Usually.

“Right,” Neil had smirked at the candy in Andrew’s hand. “And yet, you still want the ‘nothing’.”

 _Okay, where the_ fuck _is the nearest tree—_

“Green,” Neil said. He pointed at the light and the car behind Andrew honked. Andrew flipped both of them off and hit the gas.

Somehow, God decided to let Neil live to see another day and curse another soul—that soul being Andrew and _only_ Andrew, of course. And while Andrew did his damn best to seek out the perfect oak or possible elm to lay their bodies to unrest, Neil continued to throw a new candy bar at Andrew and then, well. Andrew couldn’t very well much enjoy his Snickers if he was dead, now, could he?

Today is just like any other.

Andrew hates it.

He doesn’t mind the bag of skittles Neil throws his way, though.

“Are you going to the game tonight?” Neil asks Andrew. The red head— _sun on strawberries, sun on strawberries,_ goddamnit _Andrew shut up_ —throws his backpack into the back seat and slides into the passenger side of the car.

“No,” Andrew says, which means _yes_ because Andrew always goes to the games whether he wants to or not. He never did find out where Neil had run off to that night after Andrew had stalked away from him, but Andrew vowed he wouldn’t let the red head get into trouble if he could help it. Because anyone with such an innocent, beautiful face and even shittier, frustrating attitude only invited trouble. Which, Andrew is convinced, is exactly what Neil is. Trouble.

And Andrew is tiring to put up with himself. Two troublesome bastards? Jesus take the wheel.

“Can you pick me up at six?” Neil asks as if Andrew would say anything else but yes. “Ali has to be at the field like two hours early so she can’t take me.”

“No,” Andrew says again as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Neil grins. “Thanks.”

One month, and his calculations were

right

on

the

decimal.

IV.

“Why do we always sit up here?” Neil wonders as they take their seats up in the nosebleeds. It hasn’t rained since that first night but Andrew refuses to sit anywhere else. Not that Neil minds all too much. Being close to Andrew without the distraction or chaos of a crowd always has its perks.

“ _We_ don’t,” Andrew corrects. “ _I_ do. You just follow me like a pathetic dog.”

“Okay, then,” Neil says, unbothered by the insult. Andrew isn’t even sure if it was an insult. He meant it to be, but. “Why do you always sit up here?”

Andrew pulls his hoodie drawstring tight and looks anywhere but Neil’s curious, lovely face. “I’m tempting fate.”  
  
“I thought you do that every-time you get on the road,” Neil points out. He sits next to Andrew this time instead of under on the bottom bleacher, and even Andrew can’t deny the pleasant feeling of Neil’s body heat so close to his. Neil doesn’t try to hide his content and sighs happily, eyes skimming over the field. Andrew almost wishes Neil would move closer. Not because he wants to be any closer to the guy than he has to. It’s just, Neil is warm. And smells kind of good. Like—

 _Is that his shampoo?_ Andrew wonders in horror. Really pleased, content horror. _It smells like kid’s shampoo holy shit._

Neil’s gaze flits toward Andrew like he can read his thoughts. “What?”

“Nothing,” Andrew mutters. Neil raises a brow and Andrew sighs. “You smell like strawberries.” _The gross, artificial, sweet kind that’s addicting_. He doesn’t add that.

Neil’s eyes crinkle as he accepts the answer. “It’s the shampoo.” _A-ha. Knew it._

“I might’ve used Ali’s once,” Neil admits. “Her's smells better than mine.”

“Only once?” Andrew drawls. The game hasn’t started yet but the cheerleaders are doing some annoying hype routine on the field. Andrew is watching them and not Neil. Yet he’s way too aware of how close they are to each other.

“Once, twice,” Neil waves his hand. “Two past months. It’s all the same.”

Andrew wants to push him away. He wants to pull him closer, like those stupid and disgusting PDA couples. He wants to get popcorn from the concessions.

When he doesn’t make up his mind fast enough, Neil subconsciously does it for him and shifts closer on the bleacher.

But Andrew _has_ made up his mind, and that’s freaking him out more than Neil’s actual close proximity.

“Stop,” Andrew tells Neil and Neil stills in his movement. Without missing a beat, Neil starts talking about some player on the team that’s in his class, some asshole named Seth who Andrew is absolutely not paying attention to because all he can think of is that he told Neil to _stop_ when he actually meant the opposite and Neil listened to him anyway.

Neil had stopped.

Neil had listened.

Oh.

“I could push you from up here,” Andrew muses out loud because that’s easier than focusing on his other thoughts. “You’d tumble down all these bleachers. You’d probably hit a few kids. Like a bowling ball.”  
  
Neil laughs and Andrew shakes his head at the sound. He’s insufferable.

“I’d take you with me,” Neil promises. “Then at least we’d bring down double the victims.”  
  
Andrew doesn’t even bother lighting a cigarette or escaping to the concession stands. The boy next to him does enough to occupy his thoughts the rest of the game.

V.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Andrew groans. He jangles the door handle one more time but no luck.

“What’s wrong?” Neil asks from behind him. He shivers in the night chill, jacket pulled tight around his shoulders. “Is this the right car?”

“God- _damn_ it, Neil, of course it’s the right car,” Andrew spits. But his anger is directed inward, not at the person next to him. “I locked my keys inside.”  
  
“Oh.” Neil nods but he shivers at the same time and Andrew almost looks concerned. He makes sure his face is impassive, though. He has a reputation to keep, for God’s sake.

“Not used to the cold, huh,” Andrew mutters. “Where’d you move from again?”’

“California,” Neil answers. His cheeks are red and Andrew does _not_ find that cute at all. Not even close.

“Let me call my cousin,” Andrew says. He pulls out his phone and makes the call, telling his guardian, Nicky, the issue. After explaining Aaron had already got a ride with a teammate, Nicky promises to call a locksmith and drive by to pick them up.

“It’s gonna be a bit,” Andrew tells Neil after he hangs up. Neil simply nods again, arms crossed over his chest and gaze frozen in a stuck-stare at the ground. “Hey, Neil. Don’t get frostbite on me. I’m not paying for that hospital bill.”

Despite his discomfort, Neil smirks. “I can’t get frostbite in forty degree weather, Andrew."  
  
“It’s fifty-four out,” Andrew corrects. To him, there’s not even a chill, but Neil seems unnaturally affected by it.

“Fuck’s sake, Josten, here.” Andrew says. He near tears off his hoodie and throws it into Neil’’s hands. Neil stares, part confused, part grateful, at Andrew.

“No, ‘Drew, it’s fine—“

“You’re not fine, take the jacket.”

“What about—"  
  
“I grew up here,” Andrew waves off. He does _not_ need Neil’s gratitude over a stupid hoodie. “I don’t need it, put it on.”

Neil finally relents and slips the orange material over his head. Andrew’s eyes start to widen at the sight of Neil in his clothes and he immediately smoothes his expression, heart racing a thousand miles a minute. _Oh,_ this _is a problem_ , Andrew thinks.

“Staring,” Neil teases.

“I hate you,” Andrew offers.

They stand in almost-awkward-but-not-quite silence for the next few minutes, watching other students and their families converse with one another and head toward their own cars. At one point, Dan and her boyfriend, Matt, walk by and pause to talk with them. Well, more like talk to Neil as Andrew continues to mind his own troubling thoughts. When the couple leave, Andrew breathes both a sigh of relief and uncertain energy when they’re alone again.

Andrew tries not make it obvious that he’s watching Neil out of the corner of his eye while Neil is making it very obvious that he is doing the same to Andrew.

“What is with you and watching me,” Andrew says boredly. No inflection. Totally cool.

“You’re _brooding_ ,” Neil answers fondly. Much inflection. Totally lame.

“I am _not_ brooding.” Damn. Inflection. He gave in to the primal urge to converse. Andrew crosses his arms over his chest and Neil grins like a lightbulb has gone off in his head.

“Can I hold your hands?”

“Excuse me?” Andrew demands. Is he losing his hearing? That must explain it. Josten did _not_ just ask—

“Can. I. Hold. Your. Hands,” Neil repeats deliberately. He holds his own hands out like they’re going to do fucking kumbaya or something. “Mine are cold.”

Andrew’s eye twitches again. It’s a recurring deal whenever’s he’s around Neil.

“What’s the magic word?” Andrew almost doesn’t realize he says it until after it’s out of his mouth.

Neil blinks before smiling that same infectious grin of his. “Fucker, fucker, _fucker_. With a big fat cherry on top.”

“That’s enthusiastic,” Andrew mutters. But he doesn’t move. Not yet.

“So yes?” Neil prompts. “No? I can always go ask—“

“Shut up, Josten,” Andrew says and envelops Neil’s hands with his own, pulling them closer at the same time. His hands _are_ freezing and Andrew is actually a little concerned. Not because he cares about Neil, of course. It would just be really annoying if Neil died. And there’d be paperwork. A lot of it.

Some stragglers from the game cast curious looks their way that Neil doesn’t notice. Andrew shoots daggers at them and they pointedly keep walking.

 _Dagger, nice,_ Andrew applauds himself. _Like Macbeth._

Oblivious to his surroundings, Neil stares down at their joined hands. His breath hitches like he wasn’t expecting this to actually happen. Andrew can sympathize. Watching Neil’s barely restrained expression of wonder, Andrew feels something akin to fondness— _no, disgust, this is disgusting, this isn’t even anything_ —for the other boy.

“Hey, Andrew?” Neil asks. His eyes pour over Andrew’s face and everything inside Andrew screams to let go, to move away, to not have allowed Neil get so close to him to begin with.

_Oh my fuck he’s making me soft._

“What?” Andrew says and he thinks Neil smells less like strawberries now and more like the wind and he wonders if this means it doesn’t matter what Andrew wants or not because Neil will disappear anyway, just like the first night in the bleachers.

He realizes he doesn’t want Neil to disappear. And if his hands clench tighter around Neil’s, then they’re the only ones to know.

“Thank you.”

“Huh?” Andrew squints at him. His thumb traces loose circles in the crook of Neil’s palm. “For what?”

But Neil doesn’t answer. He dips his head, forehead resting gently against Andrew’s shoulder and Andrew thinks he won’t be able to breathe again for a long, long time.

“Neil,” Andrew says carefully. “Why did you talk to me that night?”

They both know what he's talking about. _The_ night. The night Andrew wanted to give up before anything started, and Neil decided he would't run from a challenge for once. The night Andrew wishes he could go back to just so he could push Neil down all those bleachers like he'd said.

He would've followed Neil down.

Neil sighs but he doesn’t lift his head off Andrew. “I was bored.”

“Am I really that good of a distraction?”

Neil does look up at this, eyes searching Andrew’s. His lips curve upwards at the amusement he finds, the lights from the stadium highlighting the curves of his cheeks and valleys of his brow. Andrew thinks it’d be reasonable to kiss him just to wipe that sorry, handsome look away.

“You make do,” Neil murmurs and oh that’s _weird_ that’s wrong because Andrew can practically feel Neil’s lips on his as if they were actually kissing and he doesn’t like that feeling at all. He wants more of it.

At some point, they sit down against the side of Andrew’s car. Their hands are still entwined but they’re not talking about it, not addressing whatever _this_ is because if Andrew has to admit that there _is_ a this he might just lose it once and for all.

When Nicky pulls up into the lot, Neil has almost fallen asleep, shivering ever so slightly against Andrew where they sit side by side.

“Hey,” Nicky greets softly, stepping out of his own car. He looks more tired than Andrew has seen in a while and a foreign pang of guilt festers in Andrew’s chest. He probably woke Nicky up during one of his rare opportunities to sleep and isn’t that just great for Andrew’s limited conscience?

“Oh, who’s this?” Nicky asks as Neil sits up, the latter blinking slowly. Andrew refuses to find the sight endearing. “Hi, I’m Nicky.”

“Neil,” Neil says after a moment. Andrew doesn’t know what prompted the hesitation but he doesn’t question it. Not aloud, at least.

Usually, Nicky would give a “look” whenever he sees his little cousins as close to someone like Andrew was with Neil. But Nicky doesn’t seem to be as concerned tonight, too busy covering his yawns and focusing on the road.

The drive home is quick. Nicky tells Andrew the locksmith won’t be able to drive out to his car until the next morning and Andrew just nods tiredly. Neil sits in the backseat and stares out the window, Andrew’s hoodie still draped over him.

When they drop Neil off, Andrew doesn’t even consider asking for it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow burn? haven't heard of her. two pining idiots? bane and blessing of my world.


	2. Curses, Ketchup, and Consent (oh my!)

I.

They don’t talk about that night.

Neil doesn’t know why. _Does Andrew feel weird about it? Is holding hands taboo or something? Is Andrew angry I still have his hoodie?_

“Why do you think he won’t talk to me?” Neil asks Allison Saturday afternoon. He’d just gotten back from a drive with Andrew since Andrew got ahold of his car again.

Neil is so _frustrated_. Andrew didn’t mention the hand holding or the hoodie or anything. Not even the locking-the-keys-in-his-car incident. Neil just stared at Andrew’s hands on the steering wheel the whole time, confused why he wanted Andrew to reach over and offer his palm again. Neil wasn’t even _cold_.

 _This_ feeling had not been part of his calculations.

“Did _you_ try talking to him?” Allison asks patiently. She looks up from the shag rug she’s laying on, pausing in her nail painting of a horrid shade of green that she loves.

“Yes,” Neil groans. “Well, not about last night. We talked about a book he’d read. He said it was stupid but I liked the sound of it.”

Allison rolls her eyes. “High school boys,” she mutters under her breath.

“You're in high school too,” Neil points out. He sips his healthy protein smoothie sadly.

“Yes, dear, but the point is, I’m not a _boy_ ,” Allison says. A text pops up on her phone and she makes a sound of approval. She twists her nail polish bottle closed. “Speaking of boys, I have to go.”  
  
“But what about giving me advice?” Neil whines.

“Talk to him about it,” Allison says like Neil’s stupid. Which, he can admit, he kind of is. Allison pets their cat, Fat Mcat, distractedly as she moves to stand. “If you want to know so bad, ask. You can’t figure anything out if you avoid it.”

Neil frowns, unhappy with the answer. That just sounds like so much _work_. “Fine." It's not. "Where are you going?”

“I have a date,” Allison announces happily. She waves her phone in Neil’s direction. “Guess who.”

“Mmmm, Danny Devito,” Neil deadpans. He slurps down the rest of his smoothie as Allison dramatically gasps.

“Do you even know who that is?” Allison asks.

“Nope.”

“Me neither.” She shrugs. “It’s Renee Walker.”  
  
Neil stares dumbly at her.

“Renee? Walker?” Allison says again. “You know, fencing captain? Unicorn hair? You have biology with her?”

Neil makes a gesture like _okay, still no idea_. “Didn’t you say, ‘speaking of boys’, though?”

“Yep,” Allison agrees. She shoves her keys and wallet into her Burberry purse she worked over 200 hours at the mall to buy. “Because I’m abstaining from the male race for the time being.” 

She waves Neil goodbye over her shoulder as he follows her to the door.

“Your loss,” he says out to her when she opens her car door.

“Your curse,” she calls back.

Neil sighs. _You’re not wrong._

II.

They don’t talk about that night.

Andrew doesn’t know why. _Does Neil not care about it? Was holding hands really all it was? Does Neil not want anything else?_

“He won’t talk about it,” Andrew says. “He’s so stupid, it’s like the night never happened. I mean, does it even mean anything to him? Not that it matters to me, of course—but still.

“And that’s another thing,” Andrew continues. “There isn’t a this. There isn’t an anything. Especially not if he doesn’t acknowledge the fucking night. God, I hate him.”

Sir stares back at him unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and pets the cat’s head. “I know it’s bullshit. Leave me alone.”

Sir meows.

“Okay,” Andrew groans. _“I’m_ bullshit. You got me. Happy?”

Sir licks his paw.

“I hate you too.”

“Are you talking to the cat again?” Aaron demands from the kitchen. He looks over the room divider to peer at his brother. “I can hear you.”

“I hate you as well.”

“Right back at you, bro,” Aaron says easily. He’s wearing his boyfriend’s varsity jacket and Andrew’s pretty sure there’s ketchup on the sleeve.

“You look stupid in that, _bro_.” Andrew grimaces. “It’s like, five sizes too big. And it smells like ketchup.”

“You can’t even smell it from here, asshole!”

“Is that a _thing_ for him?” Andrew wonders mockingly. He pets Sir lazily as he blinks innocently at his brother. “Does Kevin like ketchup? Is it a fetish for him? Ketchup boy? Ketchup Kevin?”  
  
Aaron pauses in his making of a peanut butter and Doritos sandwich. “Nicky!” He calls up the staircase. “Andrew’s being a turd again!”

“Stop being a turd, Andrew!” Nicky’s voice comes back. As Aaron makes a face at Andrew and Andrew flips him off, Nicky adds, “And stop calling your brother a turd, Aaron!”

“I hate this fucking family,” the twins groan.

III.

Later that day, Andrew’s stuffing himself on the remains of Aaron’s chips. He’d just found out that he nearly failed his Macbeth test from the week before and though he’d long learned food was not a way to cope, it did taste good at least.

He thought he’d done well. He only referred to Macbeth as murder dude once in his paper. Maybe twice.

_Well, fuck you too, murder dude._

When the doorbell rings, Andrew groans. Nicky’s at work and Aaron is supposed to be on some stupid double date with Renee. If Aaron’s crawling back because his boyfriend finally dumped him ( _maybe Aaron couldn’t give Kevin the ketchup he needed_ —the thought makes Andrew snort), well sorry not sorry but Andrew does _not_ have the patience to put up with his brother’s presence while Andrew’s still moping.

 _Not moping,_ he argues with himself. _Coping._

Sure.

“What,” Andrew states as he swings the door open, Dorito dust everywhere. “Forget your dignity ag—“

Neil blinks up at Andrew from the doorway.

Neil.

Neil, on his doorway.

Andrew’s doorway, Neil.

Neil looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew asks way harsher than necessary. He curses himself when he sees Neil flinch self-consciously.

Wiping his hands free of Dorito remains on his pants, he tries again. “Wait—what are you doing here?”. Though he says it gentler, the difference in tone is more like a grizzly bear downgraded to a wolf.

“Um. I don’t have your number. Or a phone,” Neil says like that explains everything. “And I wanted to talk.”  
  
Andrew remembers the first time Neil told him those words and suppresses a grimace. “Bored already?”

“What? No.” Neil shakes his head frantically, hands bunched in his pockets. “I was thinking of something. That I wanted to tell you—ask you. I wanted to ask you…something.”

“Neil, we were just out a couple hours ago.”  
  
“Yeah,” Neil agrees. He shifts awkwardly on the doorstep from foot to foot and Andrew finally has mercy on him, stepping aside to let him in. “And I meant to say something then, but then I overthought it, then I talked to Allison, and she said I should talk to you, but I didn’t really want to but she was leaving soon so she—“

“Neil.” Andrew holds his hands up. He can’t keep track of shit around this guy. “Take a breath before you pass out.”

“Right.” Neil shudders in a breath. Then: “We held hands.”

Andrew stares ahead impassively. Meanwhile, his brain performs an iconic rendition of _??????????_

“What?” he translates aloud.

“Last night,” Neil says. His eyes skim the simple decor inside the atrium before resting back on Andrew. “Last night you held my hand.”

Andrew thinks he’s going to pass out. What on _earth_ did he do to come across this kid?

“Thanks, captain obvious. I was there,” Andrew mutters. “Any other revelations?”

“No. No you don’t understand,” Neil says quickly. He shrugs out of his hoodie and that’s when Andrew finally realizes it’s _Andrew’s_ hoodie, the orange one. _Did he sleep in that?_

_Ew, why do I care?_

_I don’t._

Sure.

The garment is probably the brightest piece of clothing he owns. Aaron had bought it for him a couple years ago as a joke since Andrew’s wardrobe was on the darker end of the spectrum. Andrew would never admit how much he liked the hoodie.

But he did really like it.

Especially on Neil.

So the disappointment that clouds over Andrew when Neil isn’t wearing it anymore and hands it over is almost enough to make him miss Neil’s next words.

“I liked holding your hand,” Neil continues and at this point Andrew is starting to think he really did crash into a tree all those weeks ago and this is his own personal purgatory. Because there is absolutely no way Neil just walked down the street simply to express his liking for _hand holding._

“Is that so?” Andrew asks, dumbfounded.

“Yep,” Neil says seriously. “And I never thought I’d be that interested in it, but then I tried it with you, and I liked it a lot more than I expected—"

“Are we still talking about hand holding?” Andrew clarifies.

“I think so?” Neil runs a hand through his hair and frowns. “I’m pretty sure. Not really. Kind of. Andrew?”

“That’s my name.”

“Can you hold my hand? Again? Fucker?”

Andrew blinks at the soft spoken expletive, the magic, offensive word stated like a plea. It was absolutely ridiculous. It was like a dream. It was right.

A part of him—the sane part—says to be a normal person and just go sit in the living room or something. Instead of standing in the middle of the entry way and staring at each other like they’re some kind of new species they’d never encountered.

The other part wants to say no. To say go back home. To say _duh I wanted to hold your hand the first night I imagined throwing you down those bleachers because you wouldn’t shut up so that you cold drag me along with you._

Instead, he drops the hoodie he's holding onto the floor, not a care in the world for the dust its collecting. And slowly, ever so slowly, he offers his hand. As he holds it out like an uncertain gift, he watches Neil intently as Neil slips his own into Andrew’s.

Holding hands should _really_ not be such a big deal. Babies do it. Kids do it. Friends do it. It’s nothing. But one look at the smile quickly erupting on Neil’s face is enough to make Andrew want to punch anyone who even tries to disparage the act.

Behind Neil, Andrew sees a framed picture of Aaron out of the corner of his eye and _nope nope_ that cannot do so he gently tugs Neil along into the living room while he talks. “Is this all you came for?” Andrew asks, still incredulous.

“Yes,” Neil nods and grins like he’s so damn _proud_ of himself for admitting that. He keeps glancing between Andrew’s and his hands as they sit on the couch, just as close as they were the night before.

Was that really just last night? It feels a million breaths ago.

Andrew can’t take this anymore.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Because if he keeps staring back at Neil the way Neil’s staring at him, he might do something stupid. Like ask to kiss Neil. And that would mean something a lot more than just holding hands. 

Besides. Andrew doesn’t know if Neil’s ever been kissed before—well, he can take an educated guess—and Andrew really doesn’t want to subject Neil to the taste of old Doritos on his first time.

“Sure,” Neil agrees to the movie. He hasn’t stopped looking at Andrew once, like he’s waiting for something. Maybe he wants something to drink? Andrew knows he could do with some water because his throat is way too dry. “I like horror movies.”

Andrew raises a brow at Neil’s open, innocent expression. “Of course you do,” he says. More than a month knowing Neil and Andrew is _more_ than aware that Neil hasn’t been a shred innocent since possibly birth. But there’s something way too endearing about the difference in personality and expression that has Andrew cursing to himself again.

He pulls up some B rated film on Netflix and Neil clears his throat.

“Do you want water?” Andrew asks. “I think we have tea.”

“No,” Neil says. He tilts his head and tugs at Andrew’s hand so Andrew will look at him. “I don’t want water.”

“What do you want?” Andrew demands. He’s acutely aware of his own heartbeat and he wishes it would just stop pumping.

“Nothing,” Neil says with an amused twist to his lips. His curls are falling into his eyes and Andrew moves to push the strawberry locks away before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Why’d you stop?” Neil murmurs. He watches Andrew’s hand, the one not holding Neil’s, freeze above Neil’s forehead. The movie’s intro plays in the background but neither are watching it.

“Can I touch you?” Andrew whispers, as if they're not already touching. Closely, in fact. But this feels different. He wants to ask something else but his mouth never complies with his head. It’s becoming annoying.

Neil shakes his head, not in a ‘no’, but so that his hair purposefully falls into his eyes more. Andrew resists a laugh as Neil says, “Yes.”

Neil’s hair is softer than Andrew’s. Stupid expensive berry shit. Andrew hates it. He can’t get enough of it. He pushes the locks out of Neil’s face but doesn’t stop after that, running his hand softly through the rest of Neil’s hair in quiet, suppressed awe.

Neil keens into the gentle touch. His eyes flutter momentarily before closing and he leans his head onto Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew isn’t sure what any of this means but he’s becoming more aware that _something_ is happening. Even his entire life’s experience of lying and denial couldn’t prepare him for the wholeness he feels as Neil sits next to him, arching into his touch.

Andrew and Neil aren’t pure. But something about this moment is.

Andrew hates it so much that he doesn’t want it to end.


	3. Chocolate Hearts from CVS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from winnetka bowling league's 'cvs'

I.

Another week; another run around of the same bullshit.

Andrew can’t believe he’s been looking forward to fucking _school_ , of all things. Just because of Neil.

It’s like they’re… _shudder_ …boyfriends, or something.

Andrew doesn’t _do_ boyfriends. He’s seventeen, for God’s sake. He skips curfew; he spray paints tags on the side of highways; he drives well over the speed limit on the back dirt roads. Relationships are so arbitrary, so unnecessary. 

Kissing, making out, fine. But _boyfriends_? How simple.

Andrew wonders if simple isn’t necessarily bad.

Right now, he doesn’t need to focus on his mid-life crisis. He just has to survive until lunch.

First period Lit. Second period Algebra 2. Third period Forensics. Fourth period German.

Lunch.

Every day, Neil is already sitting in their spot. Some days they’ll walk to the empty football field and climb up the nosebleeds. Andrew gets dizzy every-time, but he feels more grounded than he ever has when Neil’s sitting next to him.

He doesn’t smoke as much. Actually, he never smoke that much to begin with. It’s a dirty habit he never cared for, but the nicotine was hard to kick completely. They didn’t call it an addiction for nothing.

But Nicky was helping. He found some of these patches that Andrew called bullshit but he didn’t usually feel the itch to search for a cigarette when he used them. It was probably placebo, but Andrew didn’t much care.

Neil was also an interesting source of inspiration.

It’s a Thursday when they’re making their way up the bleachers. Side by side.

Hand in hand.

Andrew became used to Neil’s inclination for touch pretty quickly. Sometimes Andrew couldn’t give what Neil needed, and Neil accepted that. He didn’t push; he didn’t pry. And Andrew hated that. Neil was just too _good_.

And that went along with Neil’s tactile habits. They never seemed demanding. Neil just simply enjoyed touch. He sought it. He needed it. Andrew’s hands grounded Neil to earth; Neil’s existence grounded Andrew to sanity.

“Smoke,” Neil says without preamble. Andrew casts a look at him that seems bored but really says _hi yes what_. They take a seat at the top of the bleachers and Neil lays his head in the crook of Andrew’s shoulder, an annoying habit Andrew hopes Neil never breaks out of.

“You don’t smell like smoke,” Neil continues. “That’s new.”

Andrew grunts and runs his thumb over the spine of Neil’s hand. “I‘m trying to quit.”

“Already giving up?” Neil asks cheekily. He leans closer and wonders if Andrew will kiss him. He thinks he would like that.

But Andrew just pinches the skin on Neil’s hand lightly and Neil laughs.

Andrew thinks, _Ask him. Ask him if you can kiss him._

Andrew says, “Can I eat your Starburst?”

II.

“When were you going to tell me?” Allison demands when Neil gets home. It’s a Saturday night and Andrew had just dropped him off from an evening drive through downtown. They’d made fun of the different people they drove past and theorized different backstories for the drivers next to them. Neil’s favorite was the woman they saw at a stop sign:

“She looks like someone who writes crappy gay romance for depressed teens,” Andrew had mused.

Neil hummed in agreement. “She probably throws in some stupid twist too. Like a problematic trope she thinks is quirky. Or a fake sport. Just so that she can pretend the abuse in her stories is valid.”

Andrew nodded seriously. “Hot take. What would you name a fake sport?”

“Hm.” Neil thought for a minute, tapping his finger in the crook of Andrew’s wrist where it lay on the middle console. “I like quidditch.”

“That’s already taken.”

“Damn. Chexy, then,” Neil decided.

“Chexy?” Andrew repeated. “Like Chex mix?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Fair.”

They drove to CVS. Andrew tried to steal a bag of Chex mix for Neil. Neil told Andrew to pay for the Chex mix. Andrew frowned but complied.

Then they made fun of the crappy romances in the book aisle. Andrew tried stealing one of those too, and Neil threatened to tattle on him.

"What are you?" Andrew demanded, flipping through some Nooma Sykowitz book about a French mob boss that tries to kidnap two college students. The college students seem to hate each other. They also have sex. A lot of it. Wack. "A preschooler? You're gonna _tattle_ on me?"

"Yes," Neil said happily. He held up an expired box of chocolate hearts and rattled them at Andrew. "Here's a snack for your problematic paperback."

"I'm not buying it," Andrew scoffed.

Neil gestured at the offending object that was still in Andrew's hand. "Well, it _would_ be a shame for you to walk out the door with that trash."

Andrew put the book down. "You're boring."

"I'll be a better distraction than that thing, though" Neil had quipped with a laugh. Andrew let Neil take his hand as they walked back out to his car, chocolate hearts and Chex Mix included.

 _No_ , Andrew had thought, glancing at Neil, traffic lights reflecting off his face, _you're a world better than a distraction._

It had been a productive night. If not for one, small thing.

Every time he looked at Andrew, Neil saw more than he usually did. It was like Neil was on drugs or something—though, admittedly, he’d never had drugs. He didn’t even know where to _find_ a drug. Every detail of Andrew, every crevice, from his lips to his words, were magnified before Neil.

Especially Andrew’s lips.

It wasn’t the first time Neil noticed himself staring at Andrew’s lips. Nor was it the first time he allowed himself to imagine what kissing Andrew would be like. Neil had never amused such an idea before Andrew. There was nothing appealing to the idea of rubbing one’s lips against someone else’s. God, think of the _germs_.

Andrew was different though. Neil felt more connected to him than just two bodies seeking pleasure. Kissing Andrew sounded like a prayer.

One that Neil didn’t have the right to invoke, apparently.

Because Andrew didn’t kiss Neil. He said goodbye when he dropped Neil off before his house. He even sarcastically offered to walk Neil to the door so that he could trip Neil on the steps. Neil graciously allowed it.

But Andrew didn’t kiss him. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe Neil wasn’t worth his time like that.

And Neil truly, really, hated that thought.

“What’s going on?” Neil says to Allison as he closes the front door. He shrugs off his jacket that may or may not be Andrew’s onto the hall tree before making his way into the kitchen, Allison’s heels clicking as she follows.

“You know what I’m talking about,” his step-sister says. “You—“

She cuts off when she runs into Neil’s back, staring down at him in confusion for stopping so arbitrarily. Then the other person clears his throat and Allison realizes what Neil is looking at. Or, who.

“Oh, right.” She waves between the two boys. “Neil, this is Kevin. Kevin, Neil. Kev’s here to help me with our history project,” Allison tells Neil.

Neil gapes at the most popular senior in the school. The most popular senior in the school who is currently _in his house_. Though, that shouldn’t really be a surprise with how popular Allison is herself. “I know who you are,” he says lamely. “You’re Ketchup Kevin."

Kevin, who'd been leaning against the kitchen island next to his backpack, covers a choking wheeze into his hand. “Hi— _what_?”

Oops. In his excitement, Neil may have forgotten that Andrew’s nickname for the quarterback only exists between him and Neil.

Allison shakes her head. “That isn’t weird at all. Good job little bro.” She pats her step-brother harder than necessary on the back and he cringes.

“I’m not your bro,” Neil groans. “And call me little one more time—“

“Boo hoo, little bro,” Allison tuts and jumps out of the way of Neil trying to scratch her eyes out. “Ooo, feisty.”

Kevin looks back and forth between them like he’s watching a horrifying tennis match. “Uh, nice to meet you, I guess. Neil, yeah?”

“Oh, stop,” Allison tells him. She pours herself some tea from the fridge before offering a glass to Kevin. “You don’t need to be nice to him. He’s a monster.”

Kevin smirks and accepts the proffered tea. Casting a curious gaze at Neil, he says, “Well, you must be to have the patience to date Andrew.”  
  
For the second time that day, Neil gapes. “What?”

“ _That’s_ what I wanted to talk to you about,” Allison says. She grabs a tubberware from the fridge and pulls out a fork, pointing it at Neil first before sticking it into the container. “So what’s the deal? You’re secretly dating the school monster behind our backs?”

Neil looks between his sister and Kevin Day— _Kevin Day! He’s the best high school quarterback in all South Carolina!_ —in exasperation. “He’s not a monster,” is all he manages to say.

Kevin and Allison share a look.  
  
“He set a building on fire,” Allison says.

“He’s been arrested,” Kevin adds.

“That building was an old shed,” Neil defends, frustrated at the barrage of conversation. “Old sheds are meant to be burned. That's their purpose.

“And he was wrongly arrested,” Neil continues. “It’s not his fault the cops are fucking blind.”

“Whatever,” Allison interrupts before Kevin goes off on one of his high and mighty lectures. She loves her friend but he’s not always the best at reading the room. Or being aware of things that don't affect him. “You’re dating him, and that’s the hot tea right now.”

“We’re not dating, though,” Neil says. The thought is great and dandy but he just doesn’t have that kind of luck. If they were dating, Andrew would have kissed him already like in the movies. And Neil knows he has given Andrew more than enough opportunities to make the first move. He bought Andrew chocolate hearts for God's sake!

"Hell, I'm basically a distraction."

"Distraction?" Allison repeats, unimpressed. 

"Yes," Neil sighs. He doesn't know how else to explain it. "It's all just a distraction." It's a lie, but it's not like Andrew would argue. Right? Well, maybe Neil isn't so sure. He doesn't understand high school boys, either.

“Well, that’s not what Aaron said,” Kevin argues. “Apparently you two are, you know, a _thing_.”

He wrinkles his nose at Allison, who’s busy shoving cold, plain spaghetti in her mouth. “You know, there’s a microwave for a reason,” he tells her.

“There’s a reason I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she tells him flippantly, noodles hanging out of her mouth.

Kevin shrugs. “That’s gross.”

“Your face is gross.”

“ _My_ face is clear—“

“Bastard.”

“Aaron..?” Neil says, trying to get them back on track. “Who?”

Allison squints at him. Her jeweled earrings are the same nasty shade of green like her nails and Neil has to avert his eyes to not be blinded under the artificial kitchen lights. “You’re joking, right? First Renee, now Aaron?”

“There’s too many names,” Neil waves off.

“You’ve talked to Aaron before,” Allison points out. “Like, multiple times. You’ve been to his house.”

“Maybe I have short term memory,” Neil bullshits. He just wants to go to bed, not be interrogated by his sister and Kevin Day— _Kevin Day! In the flesh! Looking at Neil!_ —of all people.

“How do you not know Aaron?” Kevin demands. He takes another sip of his tea and gestures in confusion. “You’re dating his brother.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Neil insists. “Andrew and I are friends.”

“Friends that hold hands and go on dates and make lovey dovey faces at each other in public?” Allison deadpans. “Yeah, no.”  
  
“We do not make lovey…whatever you said,” Neil sputters. He looks to Kevin Day— _Kevin Day! In his house! His face really_ is _clear!_ —for backup but none comes.

“Aaron would argue different,” Kevin says simply. “I mean, he lives with Andrew so I think he knows.”

If Neil hears this Aaron name one more time he might just set the oven on fire. Or Kevin. He's not sure if that's legal, but man is he ready to experiment. Science, right?

“Why the fuck do you care about what Aaron says?” Neil groans.

“I’m _dating_ him,” Kevin says and gestures with his glass of tea like, _duh, where have you been?_

“Oh well, congratulations, whoop-dee-doo, my apologies,” Neil says sarcastically. “I don’t care. I’m not dating anyone. And I’m going to bed.”  
  
Allison grabs his arm before Neil can storm past to the staircase. “Wait, Neil. It’s okay that you’re dating him, I just wanted to say I was happy for you even if I don’t see the appeal—“

“ _We’re_. _not. dating_ ,” Neil insists, more angrily than he meant to. The memory of Andrew walking Neil to the door, tripping included, rises unbidden in his mind.

 _Is he going to kiss me?_ Neil had thought. Kind of nervous. Kind of curious. Kind of excited. He had chewed gum for a reason.

If they were in a movie, Andrew would have kissed him. If they were dating, Neil would already have had his first kiss.

But this wasn’t a movie and so Andrew didn’t kiss him. They weren’t dating, so Neil still had virgin lips.

He feels himself deflate in Allison’s embrace and her eyes fall at his expression.  
  
“Trust me, we’re not,” Neil says quieter. “Because you have no idea how badly I wish we were.”

He drags himself up the steps, avoiding Allison and Kevin’s pitying expressions.

His calculations are almost never wrong. But apparently, his margin of error is bigger than he could possibly imagine.


	4. Not Like the Movies

I.

Despite Allison’s assurances, Neil thinks that night with her and Kevin was utterly embarrassing.

It isn’t until another couple days that Neil realizes that may not be a bad thing.

But before it gets better, it gets a whole. lot. worse.

On Monday, something feels off, and he can't put his finger on it. He doesn't know if it has something to do with the fact he hadn't seen Andrew on Sunday, or if it's something else.

They'd made plans to go see some horror movie, but Andrew cancelled last minute. Aaron had told Neil in the Hemmick-Minyard doorstep that Andrew 'didn't feel like talking'. Neil accepted the answer easily and went back home, only later wondering if there was more to what Aaron had said. But he decided not to overthink it and just catch up to Andrew at lunch the next day.

Now, Neil walks into the cafeteria on Monday morning. He usually arrives before Andrew since his calculus room is closer, but Andrew is already at their table.

But he’s not alone.

He’s talking to Aaron, their heads tilted close together, as they pour over some paper. Neil finds his feet slowing down as he gets closer to the table, wondering what they’re doing. When he finally bumps into the plastic, the twins look up.

Immediately, Neil knows something is wrong. They stare blankly at him like everyone used to when Neil first transferred months ago. For once, he can't read the expression on Andrew’s face. Aaron looks at Neil in part boredom and part annoyance (and part anger?) as he turns back to the paper. It’s a large piece of construction paper with cut outs of Nicky’s face all over it and despite how weird it is, Neil isn’t too focused on it.

“Hi,” Neil greets. He pulls the strings of his backpack closer to him.

No response.

_O-kay._

“Hey.” He rocks on the balls of his feet.

Nada.

“Um, hey. Halo. What the fuck?” Neil tries. It reminds him of the first night on the bleachers, when Andrew wouldn't acknowledge him for a hot minute. A spike of hurt flares in Neil's chest when Andrew stares resolutely at the weird card they’re making. As if he’s doing his best to _not_ acknowledge Neil.

“What—“

“Dude, shut up,” Aaron finally says. He doesn’t look up from what he’s writing, some mixture of German and English on the paper. Neil thinks it says Happy Birthday. “We’re busy, alright?”

Neil opens his mouth and closes it. “Andrew?” He asks quietly.

Andrew purses his lips and finally makes eye contact with Neil. When his head turns, Neil smells the tell-tell scent of cigarette smoke. _I thought you were quitting,_ he thinks, confused. And also, inexplicably sad.

"Neil, you're _distracting_ us," Andrew grits out. Distracting. Neil's heart stutters unpleasantly.

Andrew's hair is a mess and for a moment, Neil has the sudden, ridiculous urge to lean over and smooth it out. Instead, he takes a confused step back. "'Drew?"

“Later, Neil,” Andrew says like it’s a struggle. He doesn’t offer anything else but that.

Neil wants to push. He wants to pry. He wants to know why Andrew is looking at him like Neil stepped on Sir.

Instead, he nods slowly and backs away. He’s not so stupid that he can’t take a hint. He’s not so selfish that he’d demand.

As he pushes his way out of the cafeteria, he tries to remember how to breathe, hurt and confusion stinging his eyes.

II.

Before Neil came to Palmetto High, he was used to being alone.

Not in a ‘I’m a loner’ way, but in a ‘I’ve always been perfectly content with myself’ way.

But then his mom finally met Allison’s dad, who was a whole world nicer and more caring than the deadbeat that had been Neil’s father— before he died in a car accident, that is. And when they moved to live with Mr. Reynolds and his daughter, he transferred to Palmetto High, fully expecting to be just as alone as he had been.

But then he’d made the irreversible, blessing of a mistake that was in the form of bothering Andrew one night. And Andrew let the not-so-quiet, weird but genuine kid from California stick around long enough for Neil to no longer feel alone. To no longer _want_ to feel alone. And he really liked this new feeling a whole lot.

And now, Neil is terrified that that was all slipping through his grasp.

He replays Andrew’s reactions from the cafeteria the entire rest of the day. Forget about concentrating in class, Neil can barely wrap his mind around what had happened.

 _Was it something I said? Forget kissing me, did he realize I’m just a waste of time? Was_ I _really he distraction the entire time?_

Distraction, distraction. That damned word. Why did it haunt Neil so much?

Before eighth period, Neil manages to catch sight of Andrew in the hallway. Briefly, a spark of hope ignites in Neil’s chest that maybe he’d been overreacting and Andrew truly just was busy at the time—

—but that spark is throughly doused like water to a candle wick when Andrew gives Neil one look and then deliberately spins, walking in the opposite direction. Neil is certain Andrew’s history class is the other way, and yet.

 _What did I do?_ Neil thinks miserably for the hundredth time that hour. _What did I do wrong?_

III.

By the time the last bell rings, Neil doesn’t know whether to sprint for Andrew’s car, scared Andrew would already have left without him, or not even try to find the blonde. He doesn’t know what would be worse: getting rejected by the sight of Andrew’s long gone car or getting rejected by Andrew telling it to his face.

“Mr. Josten,” Miss Winfeild says. He looks up from his desk, eyes pleading not to be kicked out. He can’t face whatever this is. “The bell rang five minutes ago.”

Neil sighs and drags himself to his feet. He walks as slowly as possible and takes way too long at the bathroom and his locker. He makes the long trip around the school so that by the time he walks out the school doors, it’s been over forty minutes since school let out. Only the extracurricular kids and some after school athletes straggle around.

Even if Andrew hadn’t hightailed it out, there’s no way he would’ve waited for Neil so long. Neil would almost congratulate himself for the loop hole in avoiding confrontation and rejection if not for how horrible he feels.

He’s going to need to call Allison to come pick him up…

Except he doesn’t have a phone still. Great.

“Shit,” he mutters. He can walk, but that will take well over an hour. Also great. Apparently, he didn’t think through all aspects of his plan.

But then:

“Took you long enough,” Andrew’s voice says and Neil almost jumps out of his skin. “I was beginning to think I’d have to camp out here.”  
  
“Andrew?” Neil turns and there Andrew is. He’d been sitting on the stone wall before the parking lot, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets; but now that he sees Neil, he stands and stares ahead warily, like he’s holding his breath. Like the cool, calm and collected facade was one breeze of air away from crumbling.

For the past few weeks, Neil had gotten used to greeting Andrew at his car with a hug if Andrew allowed it that day, even if Andrew grumbled about how ‘touch-starved’ Neil must be. But he’d breath out a genuine yes when Neil appeared, arms opened to embrace Neil. Fuck anyone who saw them.

Now, Neil isn’t sure if he still has the right to ask to be hugged, to be touched. He’s never wanted so _badly_ to feel Andrew’s arms around him, or at least his hands, touching and grounding him. Not even that first night in the parking lot when Neil asked compares to how desperate Neil is to feel Andrew’s embrace.

But the memory of Andrew’s harsh rejection and stone eyes in the cafeteria earlier surges fresh and it’s all Neil can do not to run out of the parking lot. He doesn’t care where he goes, as long as he can run and run and _run_ —

“Neil, look at me,” Andrew says. It’s not until Andrew’s standing a foot away, one hand hovering an inch from Neil’s face that Neil realizes tears are flowing down his own face. He wipes them away harshly.

“Why?” Neil chokes out. He throws his forgotten backpack to the ground. _God_ , he wants to touch. He wants Andrew to touch him. Anything, everything, a brush, a bruise, a sack to the gut— _anything_. Just to be reminded Andrew cares. “What did I do?”

Andrew blinks. When he sees Neil cross his arms, the latter shaking ever so slightly into himself, the facade cracks and he opens his arms in invitation. Neil gasps but he doesn’t waste time surging into Andrew’s embrace like a tidal wave, trying not to grip too hard but scared that if he lets go, he’ll be pushed away for good.

“I’m sorry,” Neil whispers into Andrew’s neck. The smell of smoke is overwhelming but he drinks it in greedily. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Don’t make me leave.” _I don't want to run away again._

“Shh,” Andrew hushes him. He rubs small circles into Neil’s back, the other hand smoothing a clump of loose curls out of Neil’s face. “None of that.”  
  
“No.” Neil shakes his head, the movement bringing him closer to Andrew. “Tell me. What did I do? I can’t—I don’t want to fuck up again.”

Andrew sighs into Neil’s hair. He doesn’t respond for a few moments, too busy breathing in Neil as much as Neil is breathing in him.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Andrew finally says. “I was just giving you space."

"Wha-Why?"

Andrew shrugs against Neil, their shoulders moving in sync. "That's what you wanted."

“Huh?” Neil pulls back just enough to see the other’s eyes. “Why would you think that? You are my space,” he says easily.

Andrew blinks like the gears in his mind are trying to play catch up—to what, Neil isn’t sure.

“Come here,” he murmurs and Neil allows him to lead them back to the stone wall. Its thigh height and Andrew pulls him down gently to sit, near laying in Andrew’s lap. Gross PDA couple for sure, Andrew thinks ironically, except no one’s around and they’re not a couple.

Neil doesn’t mind the position at all, even if his mind and heart is still reeling.

“I think we might…” Andrew pauses as if he’s thinking. He won’t make eye contact with Neil. “Are we not on the same page?"

"What page?"

Andrew rubs his face. "Yeah, we're not on the same page.”

“What do you mean?” Neil says. He stares at the darker streaks in Andrew’s hair, the natural highlights that draw attention to how golden the boy shines. Like earlier, he feels the urge to touch, to tame the wild locks. He doesn't though, permission not yet given. Maybe soon. Maybe never. 

The other boy has definitely been smoking again, that much is obvious. The familiar scent of smoke wafts into Neil's head and Neil tries not to focus too much on it. 

“I was under the impression that—“ Andrew swallows before staring at Neil right in the eyes and the look is more intense than Neil feels he deserves to be under. Like Andrew’s attention is too good for him; like Neil isn’t worthy enough of such notice.

“You told people that we weren’t dating,” Andrew says flatly. Not accusing, not angry, not sad. Flat.

Neil is thankful Andrew is still holding his hand because he feels like the world is titling under him. Of all things, this is not what he was expecting. What does that have to do with anything? It’s not like Neil was lying—

“Ketchup and Allison,” Neil confirms slowly.

Andrew nods, just as slow. “Aaron said that Kevin said you were pissed after we went driving, that you didn’t want a distraction anymore.”

Neil cocks his head, confused. "Why--?"

He cuts off, the memory of his words hitting him in full forces. _It's just a distraction_.

But he'd meant _himself_. That _Neil_ was a distraction. Not Andrew...

His eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, God _no_. I meant—“ _I didn’t want to be_ your _distraction. I wanted to be more._

_I wanted you to kiss me._

Neil swallows.

_Shit, if he thought I meant I was over him, no wonder he was pissed_ , Neil thinks. _It would’ve been like I was messing with him the whole time._

Fuck Ketchup Kevin.

“Is that why you were angry with me?” Neil asks.

Andrew shakes his head, sincere. “I'm not angry with you. I never was,” he tells Neil gently. His gaze softens. “I was just…disappointed.”

“But why?” Neil wonders.

Andrew tilts his head at Neil. He would kill to know what’s going on in Andrew’s head.

“I guess I thought I was…more,” Andrew says, voice impassive. “I thought we were more.”

 _You’re dating his brothe_ r, Kevin’s words ring in his mind. The quarterback had been so sure.

“You are more,” Neil says strongly. “But, wait.” _We were more?_ Neil shifts closer onto Andrew, watching for any physical cues if Andrew needs him to stop. Andrew only pulls him closer, though. “But…”

Andrew raises a brow at him. If Neil didn’t know better, Neil would almost think Andrew looked wary again. Cool and unbothered Andrew Minyard, not so confident now.

“But what?” Andrew prompts, not unkindly.

“You mean like _dating_? You thought we were dating?” Neil asks in amazement. He knows he’s stupid but did he really miss something as big as that? They never confirmed anything!

“I…” Andrew clenches his jaw, his hand tracing unconscious circles in Neil’s palm again. He’s probably not even aware he’s doing it. “Yes. I thought we were. Dating.”

“But we haven’t kissed,” Neil says. Like that explains everything.

Andrew’s forehead creases before he huffs a mix of a laugh and a confused scoff. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“People kiss,” Neil states matter-of-factly but he’s starting to feel dumb. “In the movies and the TV shows. People kiss when they’re dating.”

For a moment, Andrew looks unsure what to say. “Well, they don’t _have_ to.”

“They don’t?”

Andrew huffs his odd version of a laugh again, this time shaking his head. “Television isn’t a guide how to live your life.”

“How inspirational,” Neil mutters. He feels confused. Does Andrew not want to kiss him, then? Neil’s never seen the appeal in it before, not really, but he wouldn’t mind if it were Andrew, he thinks. No, he _really_ wouldn’t mind. He’s thought about it before. Imagining Andrew taking Neil’s face in his hands, so gentle and grounding. Andrew’s lips moving before Neil’s, asking if it’s okay before taking the plunge.

And even if he decided he didn’t like it, Andrew would respect that. Neil is certain of it—

“Neil,” Andrew says calmly. It breaks Neil out of his reverie. “Is that what this is about?” He pauses again, chest hitching when he asks, “Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Would that mean we’d be dating?” Neil asks hopefully.

Andrew’s gaze _melts_ at the look he finds in Neil’s eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Neil says. He nods up and down, licking his lips. “That’s—yes. I didn’t think…” He doesn’t finish the unnecessary thought. It doesn’t matter that he’d been oblivious as all hell, and maybe Andrew was a bit oblivious about Neil too. What matters is what Andrew’s asking now, what Neil is sure of.

“Can I kiss you?” Andrew asks seriously with a small crinkle tugging at his lips. “No? Yeah?” It’s the only thing Neil can look at as he nods his head again.

“Yes. _Yes_ —“ his second or third or tenth _yes_ is cut off when Andrew’s lips find his, faster than lightning like they'd been waiting to jump into action for years. It’s a little cold out like the first time they talked, but Andrew’s lips are as warm as the zippo’s flame and Neil has always preferred burning anyway.

He’s a clumsy kisser—they both are. If they were in a movie, there would be birds singing and people clapping and a cheesy soundtrack playing in the background. But it's not like the movies at all and that's better because that means this is _real_.

The kiss is short and slow. It's not with tongue or any other weird shit people do that gives Neil anxiety thinking about. It's clumsy, but it's also...sweet. Andrew's breath is like the strawberry skittles and cigarette smoke he always has on him and it's just so _Andrew_ that Neil's brain almost short circuits.

Neil’s never kissed before and he realizes he’s heartbreakingly lucky to have his first with Andrew.

"Was that--is this okay?" Andrew asks against Neil's lips. They breathe each other in, foreheads resting against the other's. Neil's hair falls into his eyes again and he wonders if Andrew would want to cut his hair. That'd be fun.

"Yes," Neil tells him, eyes reflecting unfiltered joy and relief and content. "Do that again and I will _always_ be okay."

He half jokes, but he's more than serious.

"Cheesy bastard," Andrew mutters but his eyes match Neil's and so he does it again. And again. At one point, Andrew moves Neil's hands that rest on his shoulders into Andrew's hair-- _finally_ , _finally_ \--and Neil feels right; he feels safe, he feels _tethered_. 

He almost wants to sigh in frustration because they could have been doing this the whole time. It's as simple and awkward as anything else they've ever done, anyway. 

And it's also so much better.

"Hey, 'Drew?" Neil mumbles when they pull away. Andrew won't let him get far though, a firm, hopeful _stay_ perpetually asked in the way he holds on to Neil, and Neil to him.  
  
"That's me."  
  
"You're not my distraction," Neil says. He wants-- _needs_ \--to make that clear. "You never were. You gave me a reason to stop looking for one in the first place."

Andrew stills completely, his silence telling Neil more than Neil ever could have hoped.

He doesn't speak, but his hands say, _Stay._

He doesn't speak, but his eyes say, _You're not my distraction, either._

He doesn't speak, but his lips say, _You've always been more._

Neil says, _"Yes."_

Like all teenagers in l-o-v-finish the unspoken thought, he hopes Andrew is also his last. He has no guarantees for the future. High school isn’t the end all be all, of course. Who knows? Anything could happen. Neil could die in a car crash. Andrew could go back to jail. They could be kidnapped by an underground mafia and be forced to play some stupid sport called Chexy. The sky is the limit.

But right now, right here, with Andrew’s lips on his and embrace surrounding Neil like a finish line greeting him at the end of the race, it feels like the start of something new. Something good.

Something real.

III. _Bonus:_

“So…” Neil looks at the piece of red construction paper in his hands. “What am I looking at?”

It’s the one the twins had been working on in the cafeteria. The paper is folded in half down the middle and when he flips it open, a hundred cut outs of Nicky’s face stare back at him. Worse, it’s the same damn picture of Nicky smiling back from every corner of the page, some enlarged or others minimized. The only space not filled in by Nicky’s likeness is a small patch in the corner that reads, _Herzlichen Glückwunsch you overgrown bear!_

“It’s a birthday card,” Andrew says through a mouthful of Oreo. Some crumbs get on the couch and he brushes them to the floor. “For Nicky’s husband. We’re mailing it today.”

Neil hums, looking amusedly at the card in his hand. “I didn’t know Nicky was married.”

“He’s not. It’s just a…never mind.” Andrew offers an oreo to Neil and when Neil goes to accept it, Andrew pops it in his own mouth.

“Jerk,” Neil mutters.

“Bitch,” Andrew smirks.

“Turds,” Aaron says from the floor, head propped sideways on a bean bag chair as he plays Call of Duty.

“Who the fuck are you again?” Neil asks innocently.

Neil easily catches the extra remote that Aaron throws at his head. “Huh,” Aaron mutters distractedly. His eyes run back and forth between the TV screen and Neil’s hand holding the controller. “You ever play football?”

Andrew groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooow thanks for reading if you stuck around for this mess! scream at me on tumblr @ ravens-play-exy-too


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